


The Misadventures Of Misha Milton

by Cerdic519



Series: The Tales Of Nowhere [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha Jensen, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 17th Century, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, England (Country), Gay Sex, Glorious Revolution, London, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, Murder, Old Castiel, Old Dean, Omega Dean, Omega Misha, Period-Typical Racism, Religious Conflict, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Treachery, Yup they're STILL going at it like bunnies!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7740676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is late 1687 now, and both Castiel and Dean are old men, though they still... well, they are Castiel and Dean. The Stuart treachery towards the Milton family some four years back is about to come back to bite the dynasty in the backside, and for Castiel's youngest son Misha the tide of Fate will bring a voyage of discovery and a handsome alpha soldier with green eyes, bowed legs and the sort of cocky attitude that really needs taking down a peg or eleven. But the best-laid plans of mice, men and omegas......</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue (1683-1687)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tisha_Wyman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tisha_Wyman/gifts), [MelodyofWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyofWings/gifts), [staunchlyblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/staunchlyblue/gifts).



1683: Castiel refuses to attend the wedding of Princess Anne to George of Denmark (1), and further annoys the king with a speech that slams Monmouth for not just his illegitimacy but also his character (2). This is widely (and correctly) seen as support for Princess Mary. Monmouth is implicated (again, correctly) in the Rye House Plot and flees into exile in the Netherlands. A bitterly cold December results in the Thames freezing over, and a frost fair is held on the river.

1684: Dean is sixty-ten (don't even start!), and yes, there is pie for his birthday. Martin Greene, mayor of King's Linton who had tried to make an issue of Herakles Milton living together with another alpha, is found chained to the maypole and naked; he decides to emigrate to the Americas very soon after. John Bunyan publishes part two of The Pilgrim's Progress. Mary Duchess of York's tenth pregnancy ends in a miscarriage and she is gravely ill afterwards, only slowly recovering. At the end of the year Castiel's and Dean's son Cassiel marries Kent, an omega he had rescued from a cruel mate whilst on his travels.

1685: King Charles II dies after a short illness on February 6th, and his brother is proclaimed James II of England, II of Ireland and VII of Scotland. The new monarch's advanced age and failure to produce any surviving male children with his Catholic wife help his cause. His nephew Monmouth invades in June but is easily defeated at the Battle of Sedgemoor, and swiftly beheaded (Castiel, wisely, had refused a request to offer assistance as he had considered the venture doomed to fail). The new king does himself no favours by his harsh treatment of anyone even suspected of aiding in the revolt, and the new Queen Mary makes matters worse by selling expensive pardons to those who can afford it. Over in France James' cousin Louis XIV revokes the Edict of Nantes, encouraging persecution of non-Catholics once more; many Protestants flee to England with tales of horror. The Loyal Parliament, initially supportive of the king against Monmouth, turns against him, and in November James prorogues it (it is not formally dissolved until 1687). The king maintains the army he used against Monmouth and keeps it just west of London, to remind the city who's the boss.

1686: The judges rule that the king can dispense with any laws he does not like, to the alarm of many. James' rush towards Catholicism becomes a sprint, but with him being over fifty and having a Protestant heiress, people are generally prepared to wait rather than risk another civil war. The Dominion of New England is created, bringing the eight northern American colonies – Massachusetts Bay, New Hampshire, Plymouth, Rhode Island-Providence, Connecticut, New York, East Jersey and West Jersey - under a single rule, but is fiercely opposed, and is dissolved three years later. The king ennobles his mistress Catherine Sedley as Countess of Dorchester (3), but public reaction is so hostile that she has to flee to Ireland for her own safety.

1687: James takes advantage of his new powers by re-issuing his late brother's Declaration of Indulgence, negating the harsh laws against Catholics and other non-Anglicans. He also brings his mistress back from Ireland, much to the disgust of the public. His wife retires to Bath 'to take the waters'. In September the king crosses swords with Castiel over the issue of Magdalen College, Oxford. Lucifer Milton is one of the fellows of the college who had resisted the king's attempts to impose a Catholic president; an irate James now sacks him and all his fellows. Castiel sends an icy letter to the king expressing his disapproval, but does not get a reply. 

And then something unexpected happens.....

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) The younger brother of King Christian V of Denmark and Norway; George (30) and Anne (18) were second cousins. It was poor timing by Charles; Denmark had just been eclipsed by Sweden as the major power in that part of Europe.  
2) He had once killed a man who interrupted one of his liaisons to complain about the noise he was making, and he had split from his young wife for a mistress. Though in these times.....  
3) Though her later marriage to Sir David Colyear she was an ancestor of a certain Mr. Charles Darwin.


	2. December 1687-February 1688

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. Dean and Castiel are content to grow old gracefully, and pigs fly over Stalwarton (ha ha in both cases). The already alarming political situation takes a turn for the worse as the queen becomes pregnant, causing suspicions that a con is being planned. One of Dean's and Castiel's grandsons sees something he would most definitely rather not have seen, another lectures them on healthy eating, and Dean (temporarily) repels an invasion.

Sunday 25th December, 1687

Dean and Castiel are lying in bed when they hear it. Someone is knocking at the cottage door.

“Father? Papa?”

“Only Misha”, Dean grunts, rolling over and looking for his slippers and gown.

“I'm sure that was what that alpha down in Oxford said”, Castiel grins. “Just before he discovered that some omegas can not only move fast but can have a dagger positioned somewhere that any sudden moves might end one's pretensions to a family.”

“You still talk like a bloody dictionary!” Dean grumbles. “Come on. He's persistent enough to stay there all day.”

Castiel sighs, but gets up and (of course) effortlessly finds his gown and slippers. When the omega looks up he is at the door waiting for his mate. 

“Not ready yet?” the alpha asks innocently.

Dean turns to snark at him, but instead just stares. Seventy-eight years of age his alpha, yet the inner beauty still shines through him, making the omega catch his breath and ask himself....

“Sex later”, Castiel grins as he leaves.

Damn mind-reading alpha! Still, something to look forward to.....

+~+~+

Their youngest son looks as windblown as his alpha father, which is odd as Dean is sure that it is dead calm outside. Physically Demetrius Milton is in many ways an even cuter version of Castiel, although Dean would never let his alpha hear him using such a word.

The best part of five decades together, and that knowing smile is still damn irritating!

“There's news from London”, Misha says urgently. “I'm riding to take it to Crispin, but I thought I would tell you both first.”

“What is it?” Castiel asks.

“Queen Mary is pregnant again.”

“Surprising (1), but hardly news”, Castiel says calmly. “She is but thirty years of age, even if her husband is fifty-five. Four years since the last one, and ten failed births do not augur well, even if she has been taking the waters. And even in the unlikely event that the child is healthy, it is fifty-fifty that it will be a girl and no threat.”

“But there is something else”, Dean says shrewdly, “or you would not be in such a blather. What is it?”

“Several of the king's Catholic friends are going round claiming that they are absolutely certain it will be a healthy boy”, Misha says worriedly. “Public opinion is that they seem far too sure of themselves.”

“A set-up?” Castiel asks.

“Possibly”, his son says. “I came through the city on my way back from Bradwell; at least the Fletchers are doing well in their new cottage.”

Dean smiles at that welcome news. Castiel had been furious at the execution of Mark Fletcher, the elderly couple's elder son and once close to becoming Misha's husband and their own son-in-law, but when he had found that a Buckinghamshire landowner had tried to use the case to seize the couple's cottage, he had flipped. The purchaser had fled to the Americas rather than face the angry alpha and Castiel had brought the cottage himself, the couple later accepting an offer of a move to a small estate property on the Essex coast. Dean also knows that the king, or duke as he then was, was more than a little annoyed that Peter Fletcher's marriage to their daughter some three years back made all the papers for the number of supporters of Princess Mary who 'just happened' to have been invited. As had the christening of the couple's first son last year, an alpha called Marcus.

If truth be told, Dean is more than a little worried that his alpha's undeclared 'war' with the king over the Fletcher murder (for that is how Castiel insists on describing it) is making his husband an increasingly prominent leader of the opposition. The Catholic monarch is behaving more and more like a tyrant, and Dean remembers all too well the last time something like that happened. Three Civil Wars, thousands dead and a very public beheading.

“They are still rebuilding after the fire”, Misha says. “The new St. Paul's is coming on very slowly, and many Londoners are annoyed at the tax on coal to pay for it. Oh, and thank you for the letter of introduction, father. The Royal Society would, I think, have been reluctant to let me have a copy of my cousin's (2) book otherwise.”

“You're welcome”, Castiel smiles as his son pulls his coat around himself and makes his farewells.

+~+~+

“Is there going to be another war?”

Castiel smiles at his beautiful omega. Dean may have grey hair and the sort of figure that having ten children inevitably brings, but to his alpha he is still the same gorgeous omega that Divine Providence led Castiel to find in that Warwickshire barn nearly five decades ago. And he can still pull that terrible expression like he did all those years ago when the alpha had refused to fuck him, as if he is officially the Most Downtrodden Omega In Recorded History.

Ha freaking ha!

“I hope not”, the alpha says fervently. “The Monmouth Rebellion was bad enough.”

Dean nods in agreement. That rebellion, fortunately, had not affected the family like the Rye House Plot had done, but it – and its aftermath – had stirred up a lot of bad feeling against the Catholic king.

“King James alienated a lot of people unnecessarily over that”, he says, “especially down in the West Country. He would have done far better to banish his nephew, and leave him as a potential rival. But with Monmouth dead, all the opposition now centres on Princess Mary, safely away in the Netherlands and married to the Protestant champion of Europe.”

“Which brings the king of France into play”, Castiel says.

“Huh?”

Castiel sits down on the window bench-seat, which Dean himself made shortly after they moved back in over a decade ago. The omega immediately scuttles across the room and nestles into his embrace, uttering a noise which sounds suspiciously like a contented purr. His alpha restricts himself to an inward smirk.

“I saw that!” 

“Let us say that, one way or another, the child born next summer is a healthy male”, Castiel explains, gently stroking the omega's grey hair. “William of Orange may wish to come over and assert his wife's claim by force, but he knows that if he did, Louis of France would threaten his southern lands.”

Dean's eyes widen.

“You threatening my southern lands, Cas?” he mutters. 

“Hardly the same”, Castiel says complacently. “My invasions are always welcome with open.... ow! Bad omega!”

Dean sniggers. His alpha is so whipped!

+~+~+

Tuesday 10th January, 1688

The conversation with his husband stays in Dean's mind, which is impressive as at his age what follows that sort of conversation leaves him blissed out and unable to remember much more than his own name. 

“You two are terrible”, his daughter-in-law Letitia smiles as she brings them drinks and food (and pie; his eldest son chose well there, Dean thinks). “Crispin is bringing Mr. Sidney (3) to the house after meeting him off the Oxford stage. Do you wish to come and see your grandchildren, Dean?”

Castiel frowns. He does not like the fact that in this day and age, many people still cannot accept that an omega can be in a room whilst alphas are discussing important matters. Neither does Dean, but he has grown accustomed to it. He briefly scents his alpha, who growls in pleasure. Their son and daughter-in-law both roll their eyes, but smile.

“I'll go and play with the children”, Dean smiles. “Though young Daniel is taller than me now, which is damnably unfair for a thirteen-year-old. What are you growing him in, Tisha?”

She laughs, and they leave the room together.

+~+~+

“Sidney had some important news from our spies in France”, Castiel says later. “King Louis has resolved to take advantage of the Holy Roman Emperor's preoccupations with the Ottoman Empire and try to steal more lands along the Rhine. If he does, then William of Orange would be free to come to England.”

“It is like that story you told me of Henry IV”, Dean muses. “Comes to England to reclaim his ancestral lands – or at least his wife's - and 'talk' with the king, then decides hey ho, I might as well be king myself now I'm here. Hmph!”

“Sassy omega!” Castiel grins. 

“Sassy but accurate! How is Diniel by the way?”

The official reason for the politician's visit was just a friendly chat between relations as Percy, the elder of their visitor's two bastard sons, had married Castiel's and Dean's fifth son, Diniel. Sidney's brother Algernon had been one of those put to death over the Rye House Plot some five years back, which had brought the two families together over their shared dislike of the Stuart dynasty.

“Expecting again”, Castiel smiles. “That will be the twenty-eighth time that we become.....”

“You use that word and I am not putting out for a month!”

The alpha chuckles.

+~+~+

Tuesday 24th January, 1688

Letitia Milton looks up in surprise as her eldest son, never normally the quietest of alphas, slinks silently into the main room at Stalwarton. The teenager looks terrible, but he was only going out to.....

She looks at the calendar, and grins.

“You forgot it was your grandpapa's birthday today, didn't you Dan?” she asks.

A slow nod.

“How bad was it?”

He looks at her mournfully, his lower lip quivering.

“Lacy black panties!” he moans. “I saw my grandfather wearing lacy black panties! My life is over!”

She bites her lip. He looks really distressed, and she so does not want to laugh.

“I suppose this will finally cure you of that annoying habit of forgetting to knock?” his father says dryly, glancing over his newspaper. “Next time it could be I and your mother, with me wearing....”

His son is fled, shrieking in horror. Letitia tuts disapprovingly at her husband, who chuckles.

“Hey, I had to go through that as well”, he protests. “It's a rite of passage, to be mortified by your parents!”

+~+~+

Wednesday 29th February, 1688

Dean smiles as his ten-year-old omega grandson Christopher continues to plague Castiel with questions about everything and anything. The boy is impossibly curious, and will make a good scientist some day. 

“Loath though I am to say it”, Castiel says, “the Europeans are right over this calendar business, and some day we shall have to just fall into line (4). Both calendars have a leap-day every four years, and you just happened to have been born on that day. The Gregorian one they use leaves out a few more February the 29ths to make the calendar even more accurate. When most of the Continent changed back in 1582 they had to 'leap forward' ten days so the calendar could catch up again with the seasons.”

“So that's why I only get a birthday once every four years?” the boy asks. “And they have more of them over there?”

“I know your mother and father give you presents on the twenty-eighth on the three years in between”, Castiel smiles, “so do not try the poor downtrodden omega look on me. I get more than enough of that from your grandpapa.”

“Hey!”

“I am reading a new book about food now”, Christopher says seriously. “They say that pie is bad for you, grandpapa.”

“Heresy”, Dean mutters.

“Pardon?”

“Um, hearsay”, Dean quickly corrects, ignoring the snigger from across the room. “You should not believe everything you read in books, Chris. They may have their own reasons for not wanting you to eat pie.”

“Like what, grandpapa?”

Damnation!

“More for them?” Dean hazards.

He is going to punish his husband later for that laugh. Damn alpha will probably enjoy that too, though!

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) It was actually a bit surprising. The four-year gap was because the queen had been gravely ill after her miscarriage in May 1684, and her husband had openly maintained a mistress at court earlier in 1687. Curiously James seems to have worried little over the succession, and never considered his two illegitimate sons James (born 1670) or Henry (born 1673) as successors, even though both were Catholic. His illegitimate daughter Henrietta was an ancestor of Diana Princess of Wales (died 1997), and hence William Duke of Cambridge, as of 2016 second in line to the British throne.  
2) Isaac Newton, whom readers of TLON may remember was a distant cousin of Castiel's through his mother. The book was Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica (they went in for snappy titles in those days!), and it set out an understanding of both mechanics and gravity.  
3) Henry Sidney (1641-1704), politician and later Earl of Romney. Often dismissed as a cipher by his rivals, ultimately to their discomfiture. Apologies to the unmarried man for giving him two bastard sons.  
4) It was 1752 before the United Kingdom and its colonies moved from the Julian to the more accurate Gregorian calendar, when Wednesday 2nd September was followed by Thursday 14th September. People protested about the 'loss' of their eleven days, but it brought the calendar back into line with the seasons. The Gregorian calendar – years divisible by 100 are not leap-years unless they are also divisible by 400, in which case they are - is so accurate that it only needs an adjustment of a second every two years or so, and that partly because the Earth's speed of rotation is very gradually slowing down.


	3. March-May 1688

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3\. There is a death in the family – well, Stalwarton learns of one that happened some months back. King James makes an(other) unwise move, but predictably ignores the growing signs of opposition to his changes, and the founder of a new state goes on a publicity tour. Lieutenant Jensen Ackles does not make a good first impression on Earl Castiel, but Misha Milton certainly makes one on him.

Monday 5th March, 1688

It had been a very bad winter, though it was considerably warmer today. That, however, brought problems.

It was Kevin Tarrant who brought the news to the cottage. The bridge over the River Sewell in King's Linton had been swept away by the sudden spate of meltwater hurling debris against it.

“It probably needed replacing anyway”, Castiel says once the professor has gone. Kevin lives in the town with his wife and two of their eleven children; he still teaches at the University sometimes, but is pretty much retired now. His other children nearly all live in and around the town; the locals often joke of renaming the place Tarrantville. “It will have to be done soon, because otherwise some traffic will simply go round on the other road and miss the town.”

“All that business lost”, Dean yawns. He has had a particularly large lunch topped off with two helpings of pie, which he considers depressing. He could easily have managed three not so long ago, even four on a good day. Being old sucks.

“There is still the old ford next to the bridge”, Castiel says, “which will be usable once the river subsides. “I shall offer to pay for a new bridge if the local burghers agree to my request to fund an extension to the almshouses. Thank the Lord that it is not the King's Highway (1), though I suppose our current ruler has more pressing concerns at the moment. Your book arrived, by the way.”

Dean looks up in surprise at the book his husband is holding.

“I have a copy of Paradise Lost already”, he points out.

“This is the illustrated version, just out”, Castiel says. “If you remember, your old copy got damaged when you forgot it in the bed last week and we....”

He tails off, but that is all right. Judging from the happy reminiscent look on his omega's face, Dean remembers very well. His paradise had not been lost at all!

+~+~+

Monday 2nd April, 1688

Misha sighs as he reads the newspaper.

“More bad news from London?” Crispin asks, yawning as he slides into his chair. There was a fire at one of the local farms last night and he had been called out, but it seems to have been an accident and there had been no fatalities. Misha nods.

“That idiot William Penn is at it again”, the omega sighs. “Freedom of worship is one thing, but he has undertaken a tour to convince the public that the king is perfectly right to dispense with the law of the land when he so pleases. The all-singing all-dancing do as your king commands tour! I really wish he would just pop off back to his own country in the Americas.”

“The Declaration of Indulgence?” Letitia asks. Misha nods.

“The king is looking like trying to make it stick this time”, he says. “If it was just toleration for non-Anglicans he might get his way, but all his actions in the past few years – well, everyone knows what he wants is a Catholic state with him in total command.”

“He is flogging a dead horse”, Crispin says shortly. “The people will not accept James Stuart becoming an absolute ruler like that idiot Louis of France, especially after Nantes (2). That is what we had the civil wars for. At least we are all well out of it up here in Oxfordshire.”

Misha says nothing, but he wonders if they really are 'out of it'.

+~+~+

Monday 16th April, 1688

The news had reached the house last week, and everyone was still in mourning. Sandalphon Milton, Dean's and Castiel's third son, had been killed in a battle against the Turks in Hungary. It had happened just over two months ago and the men bringing his body back had dispatched a letter at the time, but it had failed to reach Stalwarton. A second letter, sent when they had made landfall at Dover, had been the harbinger of the bad news.

“Poor Sandy”, Castiel says sadly as he and Dean ride over to the Hall. The day is dark and overcast, grey clouds pressing down hard on the frozen ground below. “But it was what he wanted.”

Dean is silent.

“No.”

“What?” The omega looks at him in surprise.

“You are wondering if we could have acted differently, and dissuaded him from becoming a mercenary”, Castiel says shrewdly. “You know Sandy; he was always set on a military life. If we had tried to stop him, he would have found a way. At least we got him well trained first, and he lived for over a decade in a deadly dangerous profession.”

Dean knows his alpha is right, but he still feels sad, and not just at the loss of one of his ten children. Then again, having ten healthy children, even for an omega, has been an amazing achievement.

“I rather think that I had 'input' at some stage”, Castiel mutters as he reins in outside the Hall.

Dean pouts. Damn mind-reading alpha!

+~+~+

Castiel is surprised that he knows one of the two soldiers who have brought his son home. It is Harry Sidney, younger bastard son of Henry Sidney and thus his son Diniel's brother-in-law. There is no sign of the other man; Castiel assumes Charlie is taking care of him. More fool him if he tries anything with her; luckily she has that special concoction she can quickly brew up which is wonderful at removing blood stains.

“My sincerest apologies for the first letter going astray”, the young soldier says, “though I feared it well might. The postal service in foreign countries is most unreliable. That was why I sent a second letter from Dover.”

“We are grateful for all you have done on behalf of our son”, Castiel says, “and hope you may be able to stay awhile.”

The young soldier shakes his head.

“Only for the night, then I must back to London and father”, he says. “Jensen is being posted to King's Linton though, so you may be seeing him around. I think....”

Quite what the young soldier was thinking would never be known, for at the moment there is a yelp from outside the door. A tall sandy-haired alpha soldier enters seconds later, and the darkness of the room means that he does not immediately notice Castiel.

“Hey Hal, I just met the sassiest omega servant! Grabbed him for a quick hello and he kneed me right in the.... oh.”

Castiel steps out of the gloom and eyes the tall man balefully. After his fiancé's execution Misha Milton had very much retreated in on himself, until the earl had persuaded three of his brothers - Sandalphon, Herakles and St. George - to give him lessons in self-defence in order to boost his confidence. Judging from the red mark on the tall alpha's face and his slight limp, the lessons had been quite successful.

“Uh, your son, sir?” the tall soldier mutters, looking shamefaced.

“My youngest omega son”, Castiel says darkly. “ I hear that you are to be posted to this area, Mr....”

“Ackles, sir. Lieutenant Jensen Ackles.” The man is staring at the floor as if he hopes it might open up and swallow him. He is quite handsome, Castiel thinks, not a little unlike a younger Dean in appearance, though of course nowhere near as good-looking.

“Indeed.” the earl glares at his fellow alpha before turning back to his other visitor. “I am sure that Charlie will set you up with a room for tonight, Harry. Your 'friend' will not of course be staying.”

The difference in tone is palpable to both men. The lieutenant reddens even more.

+~+~+

Tuesday 24th April, 1688

The day after the funeral finds Castiel sitting in the cottage writing a letter to his daughter Jane in the Americas. Castiel was quietly proud that the Milton line was being perpetuated across the wide blue sea, she having had three children; an alpha, a beta and a daughter. To Castiel fell the heavy duty of letting her know of her brother's passing; Crispin had offered to write the letter for him, but the earl had felt that it was his duty.

It was fortunate that his youngest son was to be here for the funeral as he and Sandy had always been close, and the omega had until the day before been visiting his sister-in-law Letitia's considerable estate (3) down in Devonshire, only arriving back yesterday morning. Letitia had inherited her father's lands upon his death in 1684 despite a counter-claim by one of the Duke of York's Catholic friends. The estate lawyers had proven that the man's documents were totally false, but of course King Charles had taken no action against him. Castiel had not bothered to feign surprise.

Dean is away at the Roadhouse, helping with some repairs after the recent bad weather. Misha calls at the cottage just as the earl is finishing his latest book, and Castiel is glad to see him.

“It is a long way down to Dartmouth”, the young omega sighs, falling untidily into a chair. “Why Crispin couldn't marry a local girl I shall never know.”

“Love has neither rhyme nor reason (4)”, Castiel smiles, thinking of his glorious alpha mate. “I have heard that it is a very pleasant part of the country.”

“The town is nice”, Misha admits. “Good for defending; I had to be rowed over from Kingswear though, and the crossing was very choppy.”

“How are people down there?” Castiel asks cautiously.

“Still angry”, his son says. “They despise the king for the way he behaved after the Monmouth Rebellion, and the queen for selling pardons right, left and centre to make a fast penny.”

“I rather think that he is too like his father”, Castiel says ruefully, “in that he chooses not to bend. Pray God that the country does not end up having yet another civil war as a result, but if this child his wife is bearing does turn out to be a healthy boy, I cannot see the country standing for it.”

His son shudders at the prospect.

+~+~+

Friday 4th May, 1688

It has been a depressingly wet spring so far. Castiel is enjoying a rare sunny afternoon on the cottage's window bench-seat when his mate bustles in.

“There's news”, the omega says, looking worried. “The king has demanded that his Declaration of Indulgence from last year be read out in public. From every church pulpit in the land!”

“Every single one?” Castiel asks, surprised. “He must be very sure of himself to attempt such a thing.”

“The queen is about a month out from giving birth”, Dean says. “And he wants to start with the London churches first.”

Castiel thinks on that. He is increasingly of the opinion – and he knows it is one shared by many – that the king has resolved to do whatever it takes to ensure that the child born to him is a healthy son, to ensure the Catholic succession. The king doubtless believes that, as is usually the case in history, the birth of a healthy son and heir will solidify his own position. But Castiel fears that, as happened nearly five decades ago, a Stuart monarch has badly misjudged the mood of the nation he rules over. And that the result may indeed be another civil war.

He will play whatever part history demands of him. But for now, he just wants to be with his omega.

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) Any route used by the reigning monarch automatically became the King's Highway, which meant that the towns and villages it passed through became solely responsible for its upkeep. The most famous example of this was the Nottinghamshire villagers of Gotham, who in 1200 pretended to be struck by madness to avoid a visit by King John. It worked – sort of; the king didn't come, but other villages refused to trade with them for a while. The village name was later used by an American writer in a story about a city where people were, frankly, bats!  
2) The same year James became king, his cousin Louis XIV of France issued the Edict of Fontainebleau, revoking the earlier Edict of Nantes. The effect was the reverse of the Declaration of Indulgence, ending toleration for French non-Catholics and driving thousands to leave the country. Some of course came to England, where oddly enough they were not Louis' greatest fans, and many Englishmen increasingly believed that James wanted to be come the same sort of absolute Catholic monarch as his cousin.  
3) For a woman to be a landowner in her own right was unusual, but Letitia's father had loaned money to the king and in return been allowed that his daughter succeed to the full estate if, as did happen, the male line failed. Charles II often granted out favours like this.  
4) A quote from Shakespeare's 'A Comedy Of Errors'.


	4. May-June 1688

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4\. For once, Dean in not pleased when his alpha offers him pie (we were overdue a miracle in this story). Misha visits the site of the family's former London house, and is frankly unimpressed with the new buildings thereon. The king suffers a setback in London followed soon after by one across the whole country, and makes the mistake of moving against the rebel bishops. And Lieutenant Ackles comes to a horrible realization.

Sunday 13th May, 1688

Misha stands amidst the London traffic, looking disdainfully at the houses along the new road. A sign proclaims the thoroughfare to be 'Downing Street' (1).

“I suppose they call this 'improving the area”, he says sniffily. “Well, I suppose it is better than using wood again.” 

The man beside him chuckles. He is six foot six, and has muscles in places some people can only dream (or have nightmares) about. Herakles Milton, blacksmith to the people of King's Linton having taken over after Rufus' retirement some years back, he lives in the town with his alpha lover Alan. Given the fact both men are of similar build and work with edged weapons, that arrangement is not something anyone feels inclined to comment on, particularly as the last person who had, the mayor from a few years ago, had been found chained naked to the maypole.

“They don't look that sturdy to me”, he says. “A bit different from the old estate property that used to be here; I saw our father's drawing of it before we came down. Why did you want to see the place, Misha?”

“Just curious”, the omega says. “Father spoke of the place, but never with affection. I am glad he and papa have the cottage now; they are so much happier there. Shall we proceed?”

+~+~+

“You look unhappy.”

Harry Sidney nods, but waits until the barmaid serving them has moved away. The three are tucked into a dark corner of the tavern, and there is no-one else near.

“I fear that my father is involved in a plot against the king”, he says quietly. “And the bishops are meeting at Lambeth Palace today so they can formulate a response to the king's demands over this damn Declaration.”

“Will they give in?” 

“The primate, Sancroft, may be seventy-one years of age”, Harry says thoughtfully, “but the word is that he will not yield on this. How many of his fellow bishops choose to stand – or fall – with him is another matter. The king might up and replace the lot of them, given his current way of mishandling matters. How are things up in Oxfordshire?”

“Your soldier friend is making a name for himself amongst the ladies”, Herakles smiles.

“Name of slut”, Misha mutters. “He tried to grope me when he came to the Hall that time. Bastard!”

“I must admit I am surprised”, Harry says. “Few are the women or omegas I've known who can resist the Ackles charm.”

“I must be immune, then”, Misha says shortly. “He leered at me when I met him in King's Linton the other day. Either that or he was experiencing a painful bowel movement.”

“Alan thought you looked cross when you reached the shop”, Herakles grins.

“Well, I am afraid that you may be seeing a little more of him, then”, Harry says. When Misha looks puzzled, he explains. “I have been advised that the king has authorized the opening of letters sent to men he suspects of disloyalty. I shall have to send all correspondence via Jensen in future, to be relayed to your father.”

“Well, if he gropes me a second time”, Misha says darkly, “I shall aim even lower. That will dampen his ardour!”

The other men both laugh.

+~+~+

Sunday 20th May, 1688

Years of living with his pie-eating mate have taught Castiel to be careful with expressing his emotions with certain family members (Dean and 'feelings', in particular, do not mix). So he does not say anything to his youngest son. Directly, that is.

“I must thank Lieutenant Ackles for bringing me letters”, he says airily. “It is good of him to ride all this way.”

“Was there any news?” Misha asks. He had been visiting during the lieutenant's call, and his dislike towards the man had been palpable. Castiel is not sure, but he thinks there may have been some hissing.

“The primate and six bishops have petitioned the king against their having to read out the Declaration in their churches today”, he says. “They say that their consciences will not allow them to do it. He is probably still being scraped off the ceiling.”

“What will he do?” Misha asks. “Buy a new ceiling?”

His father stares reprovingly at him.

“It depends on what happens today”, Castiel says. “London is pretty much against the king just now. I doubt he can expect much support. When any churchmen brave enough try to read out his damn Declaration today, he may find that out. I shall wait to hear what happens before writing back; perhaps, Misha, you might take my letter down to the lieutenant when I am ready?”

His son looks sharply at him, but the alpha feigns innocence. Years of living with Dean means that he has practised the look to perfection.

+~+~+

Monday 21st May, 1688

The news reaches the Hall late that afternoon. The content, if not the extent, is much as expected.

“I still do not believe it!” Crispin exclaims. “Four churches! In the whole of London Town, only four attempts to read out the king's Declaration. And even then the congregations simply walked out.”

“I fear that James Stuart will not get the message”, Castiel says. “He seems to have his father's unfortunate tendency to think that the world must be the way he wants it because that is the way he wants it to be. Next Sunday is when the country churches are supposed to fall into line, and from what the Reverend Richardson tells me, that is going to be a similar flop. He is definitely not reading it out here. I must write to Sidney at once.”

“I shall take the letter down for you, father”, Misha says dutifully. “Even if it means spending several seconds with that handsy alpha who thinks that he is God's gift to humanity!”

Castiel does not smile. But it is close!

+~+~+

The three other soldiers all look knowingly at each other when Lieutenant Ackles leaves their card game to greet the visitor. 

“Mr. Milton”, he grins. “Looking for someone to show you a good time?”

“Why?” Misha asks blithely. “Do you know someone who might?”

The soldier reddens as he ignores a definite snigger from behind him.

“You're only playing hard to get”, he smirks cockily. 

“No, I am playing someone who is totally disinterested in your feeble attempts at what you appear to think passes for flirtation”, Misha says bluntly, enjoying the way in which the alpha's face darkens. “Because I am totally disinterested in your feeble attempts at what you appear to think passes for flirtation.”

He hands over the letter, silently enjoying both the soldier's visible discomfiture and the soft chuckling of his comrades.

“A confession of your undying love for me?” the lieutenant rallies.

“Splat.”

“Huh?”

“Apparently my undying love just died”, Misha grins. “I am sure you can find someone with less exacting standards than me, lieutenant. That would be just about any other omega on the planet. Good day.”

He leaves, and Jensen hears his fellow men (soon to be on night patrol) chuckling behind him. His green eyes follow the smaller man as he leaves the tavern (3), and definitely do not dwell on that perfect omega butt until it is out of sight. Nor does he drool.

Much. And his conscience can shut up right now!

“Maybe I don't want anyone but you”, the alpha mutters under his breath.

+~+~+

Monday 28th May, 1688

“None.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows at his eldest son, whilst Dean nestles into his embrace, snoozing gently. Two slices of pie and a full meal have taken their toll on the omega who snores gently in the late spring sunshine, occasionally muttering something semi-coherent about black wings.

“Not one?” Castiel asks, surprised. “I would have thought the king might have made something of an effort.”

“Evidently either he did not, or it failed”, Crispin says quietly, smiling at his sleeping grandfather over on the couch. Dean mutters something odd about a bunker - he seems to have that dream quite often, Castiel has noted - but does not wake. “There may have been one or two brave churchmen somewhere, but the country is as firmly against the king over this Declaration as the capital, possibly even more so. Surely he must know he cannot go on with it?”

“You forget”, Castiel says sadly, “that he is at the end of the day Charles Stuart's son. I would not put it past him to do something daft.”

His words are to prove strangely prescient.

+~+~+

Friday 8th June, 1688

Even allowing for the long evenings, it is dark when he reaches the cottage. Misha almost walks straight in but he remembers just in time, knocking and calling out his name. He is not surprised either by the long wait before the door is opened nor the fact that his father and papa are both wearing dressing-gowns, and look more than a little flushed. 

Really, at their ages!

“There is news from London”, he says urgently. “When I took your letter down earlier, father, Herc told me.”

“What is it?” Dean asks, yawning. Misha tries not to think what his parents were certainly doing when he knocked and fails, blushing fiercely. Bad mental image!

“The king has arrested the seven bishops, and sent them to the Tower”, he says, glad to have his mind on other things. “He has gone mad!”

“I think more a miscalculation”, Castiel says. 

They both look at him in surprise.

“Consider”, he explains. “The queen is due to give birth in a few weeks' time. If he simply puts the bishops on trial it could take the rest of the year – we all know how slow the legal process can be - and that would end up hanging over everything including the planned celebrations for the birth of a healthy Prince of Wales. A Tower case guarantees a speedy trial, though I would wager he had expected them to post bail rather than go behind bars.”

“We do not know that it will be a boy”, Dean points out. There is an uneasy silence.

“Do we not?” Castiel asks dryly. “I am not a betting man, but if I were offered free wager I would bet it on that fact. This will probably be the queen's last chance (4), with her husband as old as he is now. To secure the Catholic succession, he cannot afford to fail.”

+~+~+

Saturday 9th June, 1688

“It's insulting”, Dean says, reading the paper.

“Yes”, his husband admits, “but remember that the king's Whitehall Palace is on one side of the City whilst the Tower is on the other. And the mood in London is such just now that even he should not be daft enough to try anything.”

“The king surely knows how London really feels about him, at least”, Dean says. The paper had the latest news from the capital, namely that the sending of the bishops to the Tower had backfired badly on the king. Their journey there had become a triumphal procession, and once they had arrived the guards had knelled for their blessing before installing them in the best rooms and waiting on them hand and foot.

Possibly, the newspaper opined, just possibly not quite what the king had wanted. Dean snorts in amusement.

“And more advertisements for ships to the New World”, he says. “There will be no-one left in old England if this keeps up.”

“I am sure the omegas of England can make good any shortfall”, Castiel smiles, “providing they do exactly as their alphas tell them, lie back and....”

He stops. Dean is looking murderously at him.

“Eat the pie that their alpha provides?” Castiel suggests. “Misha brought it up yesterday.”

“Don't want any”, Dean mutters. 

Castiel smirks. He knows why, but he plays along.

“That's not like you”, he says innocently. Dean mutters something inaudible.

“Pardon, Dean?” The omega scowls at him.

“I found where you hid it in the storeroom, and ate it yesterday”, he admits. Castiel tuts.

“Shocking!” he says, shaking his head in disapproval. “I think you had better go without pie for a month to make up for it.”

The look he gets for that is one of such supreme betrayal that he promptly falls about laughing. And later, once Dean has come back from his huff, the omega will find the second pie that a certain clever alpha ordered 'in case'.

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) Built by Sir George Downing (1623-1684) and finished just before his death. Number 10 has been the residence of the country's prime minister since the 1720s. Poorly constructed by the miserly baronet, several of the houses later had to be pulled down before they fell down, and major structural repair work has been needed to keep the remainder up on more than one occasion.  
2) William Sancroft (1617-1693), who defied King James' expectations and refused to obey the new religious laws. He would not benefit from the new regime; he refused to sign an oath of allegiance to William and Mary, and was deprived of his office in 1690.   
3) The country was still over a century away from the idea of barracks, specific accommodation for soldiers. Billeting armed men on the population was always unpopular, which was the cause of trouble on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean.  
4) Actually the queen was to have one more birth, a daughter Louisa some four years after the events here. The latter died of smallpox in 1712, unmarried.


	5. June - July 1688

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5: As predicted and/or feared, the queen gives birth to a healthy baby son – but the public reaction is far from what James II had hoped, especially when he surprisingly loses his case against the bishops. Castiel joins a magnificent seven who are planning for a future without the troublesome king, and Misha has to prepare for a journey with the one alpha in the world whom he really dislikes. Well, sort of dislikes.

Monday 11th June, 1688

One of the few very tiny clouds in the clear blue skies of Dean Milton's existence is church. Since he is still earl in name, Castiel insists on attending all the important holy days at the estate church over the river, but he also attends the church in Charlton once a week like clockwork. He also manages the far too frequent meetings involved in the running of the place, time Dean considers would have been far better spent cu.... holding his omega. Not that Dean ever complains, of course.

Well, not much. 

Shut up!

+~+~+

He knows the minute Castiel returns today that something has happened. 

“What is it?” he asks anxiously. “Has the king reacted to the country's defiance against his Declaration?”

The alpha sighs.

“No”, he says heavily, “though it is news from London. The queen was safely delivered of a healthy baby boy yesterday. He is to be called James Francis Edward Stuart.”

He stops. Dean looks at him anxiously.

“There is already much talk”, the alpha goes on. “The fact that the king did not allow any Protestant courtiers, even those who had the right, to witness the birth – well, it looks bad. And that it happened just after he had sent Princess Anne to Bath for the waters - she would have been there otherwise. There is a story that the baby was born dead like most of its siblings and carried out in a warming-pan to be replaced by a live one. Allegedly that of a local woodcutter.”

“Can that be true?” Dean wonders.

“Whether it is true or not is irrelevant”, Castiel says heavily. “The king has driven his opponents to a point where they will grasp at anything that can be used against him. And he has so alienated the common people that no amount of witness testimony (1) will dissuade them from the idea that the boy is not his. All eyes are across the Channel now.”

“You mean William of Orange”, Dean says. The alpha shakes his head.

“Indirectly, but more Louis of France”, he says. “The Austrians have done well to fend off the Ottoman menace, and there will be a peace treaty some time soon (2). Louis may see this as his chance to grab more of the lands along the Rhine.”

“So?”

“If he does, then even the French army cannot be in so many places at once”, Castiel says. “It will free William up to invade, and then.... then things may become very interesting.”

Dean nods.

“Almost as interesting as those blue panties you put on in my absence.”

The omega blinks. Can his alpha see through his clothes or something?

A warning growl tells him to stop with the daft thoughts, and he grins in anticipation. It is going to be a(nother) rough night.

Yes!

+~+~+

Thursday 21st June, 1688

Though he normally attends the church he can see from the Hall, Crispin has followed his father's practice and regularly calls in on other 'estate' churches (except of course Charlton), just to make his presence felt. Today he and Letitia are in King's Linton to witness the dedication of a new stained glass window. Because all the great and the good of the town are in attendance, Castiel had felt he should be there too, and had dragged a clearly unwilling mate along with him.

Crispin is talking with his wife and the vicar after the service when he realizes that he has left his walking-stick in the family box. 

“Dan”, he says, “can you fetch my stick for me? It's in the box.”

His eldest son nods dutifully, and Crispin continues his conversation. They have just finished when his son returns, looking oddly red-faced and hands him the stick.

“Oh, please tell me they weren't”, he mutters. To his relief his son shakes his head.

“Just making out”, he grumbles. “Honestly, at their age, and in a holy place!”

“I remember being your age and coming into the front room one time to find....”

He stops. His son is looking at him in horror.

“Perhaps when you're older”, Crispin grins. One of the few advantages of parenthood; being able to traumatize your own blood.

+~+~+

Thursday 28th June, 1688

“Thomas Earl of Danby. Charles Duke of Shrewsbury. William Duke of Devonshire. Richard Earl of Scarborough. Henry Compton, Bishop of London. Edward Russell. And my good self.”

Henry Sidney looks across the table at Castiel. The old alpha has no qualms as to why they are talking alone far from any servants, nor why even his beloved omega is not allowed in this particular meeting (though he will tell Dean all later, of course). What the two men are talking here is high treason, and the punishment is death. 

By beheading, if they are lucky.

“Seven good men”, Castiel says shortly. “Two Tories and five Whigs, so they span the political spectrum, though I note the major landowners are all northern-based. Do you really think the prince will come?”

“It is a gamble for him”, Sidney admits. “But one with a prize that makes it worthwhile; the resources of England to use against the might of France. Amsterdam and Paris will be at war sooner or later, either way. With the resourced of England at his command, he might even push the Sun-King back.”

“And William is a foreign ruler who will not mind yielding more power to parliament to secure those resources”, Castiel points out. His guest smiles.

“That is politics”, he says. “I would not yet risk it, but I have more news.”

“Go on.”

“My spies abroad tell me that the French are massing their armies along the southern part of the German frontier, ready for a major attack. The Emperor has already protested, and King Louis claimed it was 'le training exercise'.”

“More like le feeble excuse!” Castiel says shortly. “Yes, I will sign your letter. The Prince of Orange should know that in the event of an invasion, he will have my support. Have we a date for when he is coming?”

“Not until Louis makes a move against the Germans”, Sidney says. “Thank you, your grace; as you say the bulk of us have our strength in the North, so your support is invaluable. Now the Immortal Seven can become the Eternal Eight.”

“That”, Castiel says firmly, “will never catch on!”

+~+~+

Saturday 30th June, 1688

One of the many things Misha Milton has learned in his short existence is never to judge by appearances. Even so, he is seriously wondering if the good people of King's Linton have gone stark staring mad. Everyone is celebrating in the streets, and even more oddly, his brother's smithy has its large front door firmly shut in the middle of the working day. He knocks at the side-door and waits.

Honestly, they're as bad as his fathers! When Herakles and Alan do answer the door, it is pretty obvious just what they have been doing. That and the fact both are semi-clothed, and his big brother has a large hickey on his..... urgh! His family!

He ignores the frankly irritating small voice at the back of his mind that tells him he is only cross because he is not getting any.

“That soldier friend of your came through with the news earlier”, Herakles says, seemingly uncaring of his barely clothed state. “One of his men was down in Oxford when they got it, and came straight back to tell us all.”

“Tell us all what?” Misha asks. “And he is no friend of mine, by the way.”

“He is all over you”, Alan teases. “Like a rash.”

“Yes, and about as welcome. Tell us what? Unless something has happened to the young prince?”

Both men shake their heads.

“The king may have marked today as the official celebration for the woodcutter's son”, he snarks, “but it seems that the judges (3) had other ideas. The case against the bishops has been bounced out of court after barely a day. The king is defeated!”

“I wonder if he will even notice?” Misha says. “And put some clothes on, the pair of you!”

They both snicker. The omega sighs heavily; sometimes he really wishes that he were adopted!

+~+~+

Friday 13th July, 1688

“Well, that judge certainly knows that Friday the thirteenth is unlucky!” Misha grins as they sit down at the Roadhouse for dinner. 

“The king must have briefed them all before sending them out on circuit”, Castiel growls. “To claim that a decision fairly reached in a court of law by an English jury is libel because the king does not like it....”

“I think you made your feelings quite clear, beloved”, Dean says soothingly, leaning into his alpha and eliciting a satisfied growl. “We all need to calm down now. We can go back to the cottage later and have a lie-down.”

“After the pie is served”, Crispin coughs into his hand. His papa glares at him, but Castiel chuckles.

“You know your father well!” he says. “And stop pouting, Dean.”

“You were not even looking at me!”

“And?”

Dean would grumble, but he can see that Jo has two different types of pie out today, so he is the better omega and behaves himself. Otherwise his alpha might not let him take the spare slice(s) home.

Castiel takes his youngest son to one side.

“I wish to clearly show the Prince of Orange my support for him when he comes”, he says. “It is my understanding that he will most likely make landfall somewhere in the West Country, as that area is still resentful towards the king after the Monmouth Rebellion. Even if he does not, everything about his past suggests he will move cautiously. I wish you to go to his camp and proclaim my loyalty to him.”

“Will that not endanger you?” Misha asks, concerned.

“As far as most people are concerned, you will be visiting your sister-in-law's estate in Devonshire, managing affairs there”, Castiel says. “And I rather think that once the prince is safely ashore, nothing will save the king. When he calls for support against the invasion he will come to realize just how unpopular he is, so he will have rather more pressing concerns that what the youngest son of one of his least favourite earls is about.”

“True”, Misha says. “Shall I take someone with me?”

“I know you would prefer to have Johab”, Castiel says, “but after both Eustace and Edmund were ill last month, he will not want to leave them. Especially with Eustace expecting his first child.”

Misha nods reluctantly. The black alpha had been due to sail to start a new life in the Americas a few years back, but a chance encounter with Eustace, the youngest of the omegas whom Castiel had rescued from a whorehouse some three decades back, had changed his mind. Eustace had gone to London and married an alpha with whom he had had two children, Edmund and Edward, but his husband had died in the Great Plague outbreak of 1665 and the omega had fled to Oxfordshire, where Castiel had welcomed him and set him up with a smallholding. Now he and Johab jointly manage the estate's interests in nearby Kirtsford.

“I rather thought Lieutenant Ackles would be a good choice”, Castiel says blithely. “I know you two do not exactly get on....”

“Hah!”

“...but he is a good fighter, and with your usual group of armed servants as well, you will be safe.”

Misha huffs, but nods.

“And no son, you are not to 'accidentally' leave him down there.”

“Father!”

Castiel cannot help but smile. His youngest son's pout is so.... so Dean!

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) Almost certainly untrue, yet a striking example of history being not what happened but what people believe (or wanted to believe) had happened. James was so disliked that even if people disbelieved the story, they acted like it was true. He published the testimonies of over seventy witnesses to the birth, but to no avail.  
2) As it turned out Castiel was over-optimistic; the Treaty of Karlowitz was only signed nine years later. Austria (re-)gained Hungary, Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina, and there were modest gains for her allies Poland and Venice.  
3) A surprising blow, as the judges (many of whom had been picked by James) had hitherto ruled in the king's favour on almost everything. But the prosecution of the bishops was bungled whilst their defence was masterly, and the jury debated overnight before returning the next day to wreck the king's hopes. So all that free food and wine that James had laid on to celebrate his son's birth was used for other reasons!


	6. August-October 1688

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6\. Castiel marks his seventy-ninth birthday (and the forty-ninth anniversary of his finding his perfect omega) in a mathematical way, whilst the king belatedly realizes the danger he is in and begins to frantically row back from his 'reforms'. Misha worries about both his omega status and a certain green-eyed soldier, whilst the Roadhouse witnesses a hair-raising moment. And Castiel gives a (very) short lesson in church.

Friday 17th August, 1688

Having delivered his father's letter to that obnoxious alpha lieutenant, Misha is glad to get away. The man is, he supposes, attractive enough – the omega particularly likes the bowed legs – but his 'I'm Jensen, ride me!' attitude grates dreadfully. He wants rather more from a prospective.....

His eyes widen in shock. He stops that line of thought right there!

Misha returns via the Roadhouse where he is pleased to find his brother St. George, who has been invalided out of the army because of a minor leg injury. Misha really did not need to hear the details about it being less of a battle wound and more his omega mate's rather too exuberant welcome home, which had resulted in a strained back and a broken bed. Was everyone a complete sex-maniac in these parts?

“Just because you are not getting any!” Jo teases. Misha glares at her.

“Omegas have to be a lot more careful”, Jo's son and his brother-in-law Harvey says, coming to his defence. “Though I hear an alpha with soulful green eyes would be more than happy to make an honest man out of you, Misha.”

“I am an honest man”, he says huffily, “and I do not need the likes of one Jensen Ackles.”

“Oh, it's Jensen now?” St. George teases, bouncing his baby son George on his lap. Misha glares at his brother.

“There is a child present, so I shall not say what I would like to call him”, he says crossly. “Besides, if and when I do take a husband, it will not be the original good time had by all!”

“Gossip is that the lieutenant – Jensen – has stopped putting it about of late”, Jo says, bringing him a beer. “The girls in town are quite upset, because they say he has such a huge....”

She becomes aware that all four men are staring at her in horror.

“Personality?” she finishes weakly.

She is saved by the arrival of her husband; not because of anything he says but because what is on his head makes every person there gape in utter astonishment. Ash's hair is all drawn up at the front and hanging long at the back. He stares back at them.

“Thought I'd try something different”, he offers. “You know, business up front, party in the back.”

“Men!” Jo sighs. “You're all hopeless, the lot of you! Give me my knife collection any day!”

+~+~+

Saturday 1st September, 1688

Henry Sidney sighs as he sits back in his chair.

“This waiting is intolerable!” he grumbles. “The Prince of Orange has a full invasion fleet ready to come to England, and the King of France has a huge army poised to invade Germany. If the Sun King strikes now, then it may be winter before the Emperor can be in a position to retaliate, which would allow Louis to consolidate any gains.”

“It does not bode well”, Castiel agrees. 

“One good thing though”, his friend says. “My spies tell me that King James has definitely refused his French cousin's offer of extra troops. He think that such a move would make the English people hate him.”

Castiel looks pointedly at him.

“More”, the man adds with a grin. 

“I suppose miracles do happen”, Castiel says. “But the king feels safe behind the army (1), so he can ignore the people. For now.”

+~+~+

Tuesday 18th September, 1688

His alpha has been acting very strange of late, Dean thinks. Not that he has been any less caring and adorable (as always), but he is definitely keeping something from the omega, and Dean is determined to find out what.

Castiel wakes him that morning with an anniversary gift, a beautiful alpha-omega leather and silver charm bracelet that Dean had seen in Oxford some months back and, he was sure, had not said anything to Castiel about. Yet here it was, and engraved with an alpha and omega not overlapping as was usual, but next to each other under what is most definitely....

“I thought as a barn was where we first met, it was appropriate”, Castiel rumbles. “Do you like it?”

“I love it!” Dean beams as he slips it on. It is chunky rather than elegant, definitely not the sort of thing the average omega would wear (or be allowed to wear, for that matter), but that only makes him love it even more. And his wonderful alpha bought it for him.

+~+~+

Just as he is about to start on dinner, Castiel suggests a walk. Dean is surprised (and of course hungry), but he agrees, and they walk down to Nowhere, now a prosperous little hamlet of some ten dwellings. Those locals who are out and about greet them courteously – they both smile at Kevin's son Shane Tarrant asleep whilst his wife and eldest son work on their garden - before Castiel takes Dean up to the main road and back via the Roadhouse.

“Dinner here?” the omega asks hopefully. He is starving.

“Sort of”, Castiel grins.

The omega looks at him in confusion, but his husband is already leading the way inside so Dean follows. And stops dead.

There, gathered round, are his family and friends, but it is not they who draw his attention. On the table are seven small pies, each with the number '49' in pastry on the top. Castiel chuckles.

“Seven times seven years since I met you in that barn, Dean Milton”, he reminds him. “And today is also my birthday. Which I wanted to celebrate by giving you seven pies.”

Dean is not going to cry. He is not!

+~+~+

Dean cries. Damnation! Especially when his wonderful alpha suggests that Dean's present to him might wait until tomorrow, when all that pie has gone down.

+~+~+

Friday 28th September, 1688

For all that he loves his husband more than life itself, Dean will always be an omega to Castiel's alpha, which means he views things differently. So he is not surprised when their youngest son calls at the cottage with the latest news from London, amongst other things.

“Cas is down in Nowhere”, he tells Misha. “All this rain has made the river rise and the mill is partly flooded, so he is seeing what can be done. How goes the election (2)?”

“It does not”, Misha says shortly. “Barely a week after he went and issued the writs for a new parliament, the king has withdrawn them again.”

“No longer sure he can still guarantee a majority, eh (3)?” Dean says. He knows that the king had planned to create enough new peers to give him a majority in the Lords, but getting one in the Commons would have been harder if not impossible. Misha shakes his head.”

“It is not that”, he says. “Yesterday King Louis' armies invaded Germany, well south of the Dutch border. The path is now clear for the Prince of Orange to come to England, and King James knows that. It seems that he was banking on an attack further north to stop his son-in-law.”

“He could still accept the offer of French troops”, Dean says.

“That would be fatal to him”, Misha says, “let alone they would have to get past our Navy. His only hope now is that when the prince comes, enough people remain on the sidelines to leave him with the advantage.”

“That is what happened in some parts at the start of the civil wars”, Dean agrees. “So why are you really here, Misha?”

“Huh?”

“Is it something to do with your pre-heat?” (4)

His son blushes fiercely.

“I hate being an omega!” he growls. “And I hate my body! I had to deliver father's letter to that obnoxious Lieutenant Ackles last week, and I found myself leaking afterwards. I hate him above all!”

“But your body does not”, Dean says with a smile. “It seems it has chosen him. Is he really that bad?”

His son hesitates.

“Jo says that he has stopped sleeping around of late”, he admits, “and he is always polite and courteous. He is, I suppose, quite good-looking. But then he tries some terrible chat-up line, and I just want to hit him. Why can I not find the perfect mate like you did, papa?”

“Perfect mates do not grow on trees”, Dean smiles. “My Cas is one in a million, and I thank God every day that he found me. You obviously did not have a full heat, so how are you?”

“All right I suppose”, his son says, “but I am dreading the trip to the West Country with that man. Though I suppose it will be a good way of finding out what he is really like.”

“True.”

“And being able to cut his balls off if he tries anything on.”

“Misha!”

Dean shakes his head at him. He is sure that his youngest son is joking. 

Well, fairly sure.....

+~+~+

Sunday 30th September, 1688

Castiel rarely visits the estate churches except of course for Stalwarton and his own Charlton, so it is a surprise for the residents of Kirtsford to find their liege lord at morning service. Of course he gets up to read the lesson, and walks slowly to the lectern, eyeing the congregation severely.

“I know the best readings are the short ones”, he says curtly, “so I will make this brief. Today's reading is from Proverbs, chapter 22, verse 2. 'The rich and poor meet together; the LORD is the Maker of them all'.”

He looks hard at certain people in the congregation, who all flinch under his steady stare,

“It has come to my attention”, he says slowly, “that one or two of my workers in this village have been complaining about having to deal with a friend of mine. These complaints have not been for the man's manner, his fairness, or his character. No, they have been because of the colour of his skin.”

He reserves a particularly hard glare for Martin Brice, who seems unduly fascinated by the tiled floor just now.

“Mr. Johab Milton is a dear friend of mine”, Castiel says heavily, “and any slight against him is a slight against me. Those who find dealing with him in any way uncomfortable are of course free to leave my service with the appropriate payments and notice. Those who persist in such attitudes will find that that choice is taken away from them, and that they are summarily dismissed!”

He takes a deep breath.

“The LORD is the maker of us all”, he reminds the congregation. “Even you, Mr. Brice, an act for which I suppose he had his reasons. There will be no further reminders. Good day my people, and may the Good LORD watch over you." He paused before adding, "because I know I will.”

+~+~+

Sunday 7th October, 1688

“The king is in full retreat mode now”, Crispin tells his father over Sunday dinner. “Cancelling Catholic appointments all over the place to try to win friends. He has even backed down over Magdalen, so Luke is happy.”

“It is all too late for him now”, Castiel sighs. “Like his father, no-one trusts a Stuart monarch any more. I always wondered that about his late brother; it seemed that both he and parliament were trying to pretend that things could just be as they were before the wars. That is all gone now.”

“I am planning something special for Christmas this year”, Crispin says. “Dorothy has finally persuaded Charlie to retire, and I was threatened in no uncertain terms as to what would happen if I made a big thing out of it. However, as she is going at Christmas.....”

“Very good”, Castiel smiles. 

“Will she still come in to bake pies?” Dean asks hopefully. Both alphas turn to look at him, then shake their heads at each other. 

“What?” the omega asks indignantly.

“Don't ever change”, Castiel says softly.

+~+~+

Sunday 21st October, 1688

“Two days ago”, Castiel says silently.

His youngest son nods. He has always resented the now-king for the part he played in his fiancé's death five years back. Now he can help make him pay.

“I shall set out tomorrow”, he says calmly. “Assuming Je- Lieutenant Ackles is available to accompany me.”

Castiel does not comment on his son's verbal slip. He might allow himself a smile when he is gone, though.

“Papa is right”, Misha grumbles. “You have a very loud and judgemental silence, father.”

“I did not actually say anything”, Castiel smiles. “I only wish I knew the prince of Orange's precise plans, but wisely he is keeping his exact destination to himself. I am sure however that it will be somewhere in the West Country, most likely Devonshire (5). If he is anywhere in the vicinity, you will hear of his landing soon enough.”

“That is true”, Misha says. “Nothing travels faster than gossip.”

“Except Dean in pursuit of pie!” Castiel laughs.

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) It was technically illegal for the king to retain a standing army (and to tax people to pay for same) without parliament's permission, but James had taken advantage of the support he had had during the Monmouth Rebellion to impose heavy taxes, and he was using these to find the army. An army still stationed right outside the troublesome capital, just in case they thought of trying anything.  
2) The king had hoped that a new parliament might back him against a foreign invasion, not knowing that many members of the old one had actually helped cause it.  
3) Bribery and creating new seats in areas likely to support him were the options open to James when it came to 'controlling' the Commons, and he could always appoint any number of new Lords, but the tiny size of the electorate made predicting the result fairly easy. The king could have been almost certain that any new Commons would have been strongly against him.  
4) Omegas who had a perfect alpha mate would trigger a pre-heat, with some of the symptoms of a regular one, when near said alpha. It would usually only happen after the second or third encounter, so by this time both Misha and Jensen would have known they were it for each other.  
5) Brixham, the eventual landing-point, is some 220 miles south-west of London. Far enough for the prince to gauge support and withdraw if necessary, and much further west is the more Royalist Cornwall. Plus the West Country had supported the Monmouth Rebellion to some extent, and been angered by the king's over-reaction afterwards.


	7. October 1688

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7: King James continues to row back his pro-Catholic 'reforms' as the invasion by his son-in-law looms ever closer. Misha begins his journey with the man his body (showing dreadful taste) connects with even if his mind finds the same man utterly appalling, and stops off at his brother Cassiel's house in Wiltshire. But his progress west is interrupted by an untimely heat in Devonshire, and his lieutenant companion has to reach for his gun.....

Monday 22nd October, 1688

Despite his body's poor choices when it comes to green-eyed alphas with sexy bowed legs, Misha really misses having Johab on his travels. He can understand why Castiel had refused to even ask the man to accompany him – he would doubtless have interpreted the request as a command and agreed, despite his worries over his new family's recent illnesses – but he was wonderful to have around. He remembers one time in particular when two drunken alphas had broken into the omega's room in a tavern, only for Johab to emerge from the dark with his knife. One of the attackers had, quite literally, shitted himself!

In lieu of his old friend Misha usually has a party of four armed betas from the estate every time he travels. One of the regulars is however off sick, and his replacement is Misha's distant cousin Gideon, Gadreel's youngest son. Castiel's former London servants both left for the New World shortly after King Charles II's coronation and from their last letters both are doing well, but Gideon had decided to return to the Old Country; he had since married a local girl and had a son on the way.

The omega's attention is drawn rather more to the lieutenant. He supposes that he did not expect him to ride in full army uniform all the way to Devonshire, but his weapon apart the alpha looks like he is going on holiday, his white shirt ridiculously open given the cool autumn weather. The man is going to freeze!

Embarrassingly the soldier catches him looking at his bare chest and grins knowingly. Misha decides that as attractive as the man is on a superficial level, his body's chemistry has very poor taste.

Their destination for tonight is his brother Cassiel's house which is in the town of Marlborough in Wiltshire, about forty miles away. The whole journey will take five days, so they may even arrive to find the prince has already landed. Misha is to present himself to him as the Earl of Bradstock's youngest son, and assure the prince of his father's support and loyalty. The omega smiles in the knowledge that such an action in the past (and still in some parts of England, sadly) would have had quite a different outcome – and the prince is said to like omegas - but he is sure that William of Orange knows full well not to try anything on.

Hopefully. That is what the otherwise useless lummocks next to him is for.

The lieutenant is silent as they ride through Oxford and continue south to Newbury, where they plan to have a late dinner. Occasionally he looks at the omega and seems about to try to start up a conversation, but he never does. Misha finds that intriguing.

+~+~+

Castiel's fourth son had been one of the last to marry. Nine years Misha's senior he had looked set to go through life un-mated and may have done so had it not been for a chance meeting some three years back. Returning home from a visit to a friend in Salisbury, he had stopped for the night at a tavern in the village of Collingbourne Kingston, some miles south of where he now lived. There he had chanced across an alpha beating his omega, and had barely left the former alive, taking the omega with him. Said omega, Kent, had soon after become his mate, and the family joke was that Cassiel had made up for lost time by producing two sets of twins off of him since, the second set just six months back.

“Babies!” Cassiel grunts as they sit down in his main room. He is strikingly similar to Misha in appearance, both of them definitely their alpha father's sons down to the permanently messy hair, though Cassiel is taller. Misha smiles as Kent immediately comes in and almost sits on top of his alpha, snuggling in close. It is wonderfully domestic. 

He is not envious. Not at all. Though he does catch the lieutenant looking at the scene somewhat wistfully.

“I did all the work”, Kent says pointedly. “You just stood there and yelled 'go on, for Heaven's sake push!', until even the midwife snapped at you. Fat lot of help you were!”

Misha smiles as his brother blushes. At least Cassiel was better than their father who, as they so often hear from their papa (usually over dinner), fainted during three of his sons' arrivals. Though the last time Dean had done it, Crispin had said he would send the pie for dessert away as he had lost his appetite. That had subjected everyone to Dean's maximum 'poor little omega' face, for which the word 'pout' was definitely inadequate.

“No news from the south coast”, Cassiel says, “but I would wager that they are having the same gentle easterly as we are up here. The prince will be making but slow progress towards wherever he is bound. Kent, honestly!”

He frowns as his omega purrs and buries himself into his neck, but it soon becomes a smile instead. Misha is glad for him. He catches a ghost of a smile on the lieutenant's face, but says nothing.

+~+~+

Tuesday 23rd October, 1688

The weather is unusually warm for October, Misha thinks as they ride up onto the downs, which is good because the roads are as awful as ever. He spots at least two tree-trunks temporarily abandoned by their carriers, and is glad that the recent rains which trapped them there have moved on.

“Your brother was a good man, you know.”

The omega looks up, surprised. The lieutenant is looking straight ahead, a stern look on his handsome features.

“I was close to him”, Misha admits ruefully. “Sandy was ten years my senior, and he always took care of me and Dino – Diniel, my omega brother. I do remember that he was always determined to become a soldier though, and I overheard my papa telling my father once that he was both proud and terrified when he finally achieved it.”

“I should have been with him”, the lieutenant sighs. “We were due out on patrol that fateful day, but I was... indisposed.”

“Odd name for a prostitute”, Misha mutters before he can stop himself. The lieutenant frowns.

“His name was Pieter”, he says, “and I had to escort him back to camp to prevent the locals from attacking him. They thought he was cursed because of a birthmark he had on his face; you know what some country areas are like. Sandy was already gone when I got there, and... he did not come back.”

Misha feels ashamed.

“I am sorry for saying that”, he offers. “It was good of you to bring him home.”

“It was the least I could do”, the lieutenant says gruffly. 

He falls silent, and Misha does not speak to him again.

+~+~+

Wednesday 24th October, 1688

“I wonder why they did it.”

The lieutenant looks around the huge stone circle (1) and shudders.

“Gives me the creeps!” he says. “Half expect some sort of portal into another world to appear in the middle and swallow us all up!”

“You have too vivid an imagination!” Misha laughs. “Let us ride on before the spirits of our forefathers come to take you away!”

The lieutenant glares at him, but Misha notes he spurs his horse quickly away from the grey silent stones.

+~+~+

They make good progress and spend the night in Ivelchester (2), a small village in Somersetshire that is, or so the tavern owner claims, built on an old Roman fort. The lieutenant waits until they are on the stairs before scoffing.

“He may speak sooth”, Misha says. “This is where we join the old Roman road between Exeter and Lincoln, and a fort at the river crossing here would have been a natural choice.”

“This is the middle of nowhere”, the lieutenant argues.

“Forty years or so ago it was the scene of a battle to secure the river before the big battle at Langport, a little way up the road”, Misha says. 

“Learnéd little omega!” the lieutenant grins. 

Misha is annoyed. He waits until they part to go to their separate rooms before speaking again.

“Oh I have talents in so many areas, soldier!” he grins, stepping close to the alpha before moving to his door. “Good night!”

He can scent the taller man's arousal and almost feel the frustration rolling off of him. Hah! 

He really should have known what pride comes before.....

+~+~+

Thursday 25th October, 1688

Misha is looking forward to tomorrow he thinks, as they make good progress along the old Roman road to Exeter. The road beyond that city skirts the western edge of Lyme Bay and is, he recalls, particularly beautiful. He cannot wait to see it.

As it turns out, he is going to have to. It is as they stop for dinner at Honiton that he first feels it. Just a mild tingling warmth that he knows too well, a warning of what is to come all to soon. Damnation, but being an omega can be a pain at times!

He does not think that the lieutenant will notice, but he forgets that a soldier is trained to spot all. The soldier rides a littler closer to him as they leave Honiton behind and speaks quietly. Two of the servants are a little way ahead of them and the other two are some distance behind, so they will not be overheard.

“You are coming into heat, my lord.”

Misha blushes.

“You think I do not know?” he hisses. “Now of all times!”

“We need to find somewhere to wait this out”, the lieutenant says firmly. Somewhere away from civilization. Do you know where we are?”

“About a third of the way to Exeter”, Misha says, not surprised to find he is already starting to sweat. Ahead of him Gideon glances back, visibly concerned. “There is a town about two miles down that road on the left; Ottery St. Mary.”

“We shall find you somewhere”, the lieutenant says confidently. “Come on.”

+~+~+

Clearly God has a warped sense of humour, because the lieutenant's choice is a lonely barn about a mile short of town, set some little way back from the road into town (the earl's personal coat of arms includes such a building in one quarter, for reasons everyone in the family knows all too well). Misha notices that the alpha is already starting to sweat as he inhales the omega's scent, and he silently hates his body even more.

“What are you going to do?” he asks anxiously, as the lieutenant takes out his gun. He beckons Gideon over and says a few words to him, then hands him the weapon.”

“I am going to send two of the men into town to get food and drink”, he says, “and the other two will keep their weapons ready.”

“And you?” Misha asks, puzzled. The feral look he gets actually makes him take a step back in fear.

“The weapons are for use on me, if I lose control”, he says, and the omega can hear the tremor in his voice. “At least no other alpha will come near you out here, but... you know.”

Oh, Misha knows. The lieutenant is as much a victim of human nature as he is; every bit of the alpha is clamouring for him to claim and mate the omega in heat, and it must be taking an immense amount of willpower not to do just that. And his damn heat has not even gotten started yet. He is grateful that there is a gentle breeze blowing through the huge building, but even removing his clothes – and he is possibly just a little pleased at the sharp intake of breath from a certain alpha just behind him – does little to cool him down.

It looks like being a somewhat difficult week. (4)

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) Stonehenge, a huge stone circle developed between 3000 and 2000 B.C, though the site was probably used for centuries before that. Quite why it was built remains unclear, though we know many of the larger stones were brought nearly two hundred miles from Pembrokeshire. Better presented as a tourist attraction than it once was, although the main London to Exeter road still runs right by it, plans to bury the latter in a tunnel having been shelved because all the money went to greedy bankers to pay their undeserved bonuses.  
2) Now Ilchester, indeed built on the former Roman settlement of Lindinis.  
3) It is theorized that the lullaby Rock-a-bye Baby is based on the events of this year. The sudden change in wind set the invasion on again as well as holding the king's defending fleet at bay, and James soon found his support ('the bough') breaking, bringing down him and his son.  
4) Omega heats are about a week long when younger, slowly lengthening to double that by the time they reach forty. They tend to be fairly regular, but can be triggered by certain important events in their life.


	8. October - November 1688

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8: Misha survives his barn encounter and comes to realize that he rather does like the lieutenant who defied his basic instincts and held back from knotting an omega in heat. Their journey continues and they reach Dartmouth safely to find the prince of Orange not yet arrived; he 'invades' a few days later, and begins a slow march on London. The lieutenant does not growl possessively when Misha meets the prince, and he most definitely does not purr, whatever anyone says!

Saturday 27th October, 1688

The fact that he has to ride all the way home with this man – Jensen – once this over through is... well, going to be a challenge. Misha's heat is now on maximum, and earlier today he had threatened to rip the alpha's cock clean off if he did not set about knotting him this instant. It was only later that he had become aware of Gideon and his fellow servant standing with their guns ready in case the lieutenant broke, and frankly it was amazing that he had not done. Though he had snarled viciously at the betas for the grievous sin of bring them food and water.

Misha moans as another wave of heat passes through his boiling body, and snuggles closer to the soldier. The omega is totally naked now; the clothes have not been invented yet that can survive a full-blown heat, and Jensen is down to his underwear as the hot body of the smaller man rubs against him, demanding something he very clearly wants to give but knows he must not. Several times the omega has tried to impale himself on a very ready dick only for the alpha to growl and prevent him, holding him firmly to his broad chest.

But Misha waaaaaaaants!

+~+~+

Sunday 28th October, 1688

Today it is Misha who snarls at the servants. Right in the middle of trying to surreptitiously impale himself on the alpha's erect cock whilst he was still sleeping. If any of the betas tattle about this, he will have to emigrate!

Far and away the worst part, he thinks with what little is left of his brain, is the realization that it is not just the heat. He wants the soldier who smells of leather and apples, who has held himself back at a time when so many other alphas would have just taken him. He wants the alpha at whom, when he threatened to tie Misha up to stop any further sleep humpings, the omega had batted his eyelashes and muttered 'promise?'. Jensen Ackles is his alpha, and no other.

+~+~+

Monday 29th October, 1688

Memo from Misha to self; do not allow your alpha to play with your nipples whilst sucking you off, as it causes you to pass out. Or at least restrict said activity to special days. Ones with a 'y' in them....

+~+~+

Tuesday 30th October, 1688

Apparently that old wives' tale about omegas getting through heats more easily by fucking their alphas is true, Misha thinks with a grin. And Jensen lies exhausted and broken next to him, just a thin layer of material between the omega and....

He realizes that a forest-green eye is watching him warily, and sighs. Maybe later.

+~+~+

Wednesday 31st October, 1688

Finally – mercifully - the heat seems to be waning. Misha can only thank the Lord for small mercies, and they can resume their journey. In truth he is impressed (amazed) that the lieutenant did not actually knot him; he knows he wanted it badly enough. The omega is already planning how to get from 'I loathe your very existence' to 'please knot me'. He wonders if there is some easy way to do this.

He wonders if it will start raining manna from heaven. Probably more likely.

His alpha is for some reason not there, but Misha only has a few seconds to feel annoyed before Jensen returns, carrying some bread and cheese. The omega realizes that he is actually damnably hungry, and reaches for the food with a plaintive whine. The lieutenant chuckles but hands most of the food over to the omega, who devours it rapidly.

“It's not a race”, the alpha grins. “There's more where that came from, and once you're in the clear we can go into town and get a proper meal inside you.”

“Bliss!” Misha mutters.

“Though you very nearly had something else inside you as well!” the alpha teases. Misha scowls at him, then grins mischievously.

“Maybe when you're mature enough”, he says, enjoying the way in which the soldier's eyes darken at that. “Pass the cheese, alpha.”

An involuntary growl escapes the lieutenant. Misha does not smirk, but it is close.

+~+~+

Saturday 3rd November, 1688

“It is kind of appropriate, when you think about it.”

Misha looks across the breakfast table in confusion. They had arrived in the town late yesterday after being rowed across the Dart in pitch darkness, and fortunately found the house ready to receive them, even if the servants had panicked over their non-arrival and written to Oxfordshire to ask what was afoot. Jensen had insisted on sending a letter back to Oxfordshire that morning, so that Dean and Castiel would not worry for too long.

“What do you mean?” the omega asks. The soldier notices that he tilts his head when asking questions, and thinks how damn adorable his ma.... charge is.

“Well, the whole town knows the story of how your father met your papa”, Jensen grins. “Finding an in-heat omega alone in a barn – hey, there was only going to be one outcome.”

He looks curiously at the omega, who is smirking.

“What?” the soldier asks.

“The whole town does not know the whole story”, Misha grins. “Papa was in the barn sheltering from a downpour, and had just taken all his clothes off when father burst in.”

“And then your father knotted him.”

“No.”

Jensen stares at him in confusion.

“Papa was most displeased”, Misha chuckles. “He was not in a full heat of course, but he wanted to be knotted right there and then. Father would not have it until he could consent with a clear head.”

“It is difficult for an alpha to restrain himself in such a situation”, Jensen agrees. He smirks before adding, “especially knowing what some omegas are like!”

He may have dodged gunfire in the past, but he does not even see the bread roll before it hits him. He yelps in surprise.

+~+~+

The servant they sent off with the letter returns briefly with important news before resuming his ride to Oxfordshire. On arriving yesterday Misha and Jensen had been told that the prince's fleet had been blown back to the Provinces by a Channel storm, and taken some damage. But two days ago the wind had veered unexpectedly, blowing into a strong south-easterly that had scattered the king's defending ships and allowed the prince to set out to sea again.

“I wonder where he is now”, Jensen muses as they wait for their dinner.

“The report suggested he should be passing the Isle of Wight today”, Misha says. “He might make landfall anywhere from Dorset onwards – probably not Lyme Regis as that was where poor Monmouth came ashore – but I think he will go for somewhere near here.”

“Why?” Jensen asks.

“The date.”

“Huh?”

“It wants only two days to Bonfire Night”, Misha says. “A day of importance to Protestants, even if for erroneous reasons (1). It would strike a chord when he needs all the help he can get.”

“You think the country will not support the prince of Orange after all?” Jensen asks, surprised.

“It is human nature to back winners”, Misha says. “Even down here where resentment against the king is fierce, most people will hold back until they are sure. What will be important is how the king's own forces hold together under strain. Remember Edward II?”

“Uh, no. That's ancient history.”

“Just over three hundred and fifty years ago”, Misha says primly. “That king was sure that he had more than enough armed forces to deal with an invasion threat, and he did.”

“But?” the soldier presses.

“But they would not fight for him”, Misha continues. “When his wife invaded in their son's name, they either refused to fight for him or went over to her. That king went from sure of his position to a prisoner in Berkeley Castle in barely a year, and lost his crown as a result. And his favourites were hung, drawn and quartered.”

“What happened to him?” Jensen asks.

“Some say he was allowed to go into exile (2)”, Misha says, “but the more common belief is that he was killed by anal impalement with a red-hot iron. Is there any sauce today?”

The soldier just stares at him. But Misha notes that he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He suppresses a smile.

+~+~+

Monday 5th November, 1688

“I want you to claim me.”

Jensen's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his cropped hair.

“Wha.... what?” he said, in an impressively high voice. He swallowed and tried again. “Uh, what?”

Judging from the smirk on the omega's face, the little bastard knows full well what effect he is having on the alpha. Jensen is trying to be a gentlemen here, but a certain omega is making it hard. 

Really, really hard!

“I do not think the prince is the sort to do such a thing”, Misha says, “but I would prefer to appear before him bearing a claiming-mark.”

The alpha's eyes water.

“You want me to claim you?” He really needs to take something for that voice.

“Just the mark”, Misha grins. “We can do the fun stuff later – if you're very good. Or maybe even if you're very bad!”

He saunters off to his room, leaving a somewhat confused (and more than somewhat horny) soldier behind him. There is definitely a whine before he leaves the room.

+~+~+

“Brixham”, Misha says.

“Where's that?” Jensen asks, quite proud that he had managed two whole words. All that stuff about giving a claiming mark literally blowing an alpha's mind that he had read in some newspaper or other – all true and then some. He growls as the omega shifts position.

“Just making myself more comfortable”, Misha tells him. “I'm not going anywhere, alpha. I'm yours now.”

The noise that comes out of Jensen at that statement is not, nor does it bear the faintest resemblance to, a satisfied purr. Though it may have conveyed a similar impression judging from the omega's knowing smirk.

“Shaddup!” the lieutenant mutters.

“We passed a couple of miles to the west of it”, Misha grins, “a few miles before we had to take the ferry. I may ask one of the local fishermen if he can sail us round the bay all the way there....”

“No!” Jensen. “You're going nowhere.”

“I am Nowhere”, Misha points out. “The son of the Lord of Nowhere. Do not worry, soldier brave. I am all yours and you.... are all mine!”

The noise he elicits by what he does next is definitely a whine. But it is a happy one.

+~+~+

Tuesday 6th November, 1688

Misha quite enjoys his meeting with William of Orange. Politenesses are exchanged and the whole affair lasts less than five minutes, but at least the prince is assured of the Earl of Bradstock's loyalty. Knowing his character, Misha is sure that he will be keeping a list of who is quick to declare for him and who holds back.

The omega would be lying, however, if he had not enjoyed rather more the continuous growling coming from his alpha – his alpha! - throughout the whole proceedings. Jensen, it had turned out later, had been unaware he was even doing it, and had blushed red all over (yes, all over!) when told. 

“He is married, if perhaps not happily”, he reassures the still growling alpha as they lie together afterwards. He himself would be happy for the soldier to take him there and then, but he wants their first time to be special, and most definitely after he had told his father and papa. The wrath of the earl is not something to which he will subject anyone who does not deserve it. “I have the alpha I want.”

Jensen does that not-purring noise again, which Misha pretends to not hear. He is a good omega.

He can be a bad omega later!

+~+~+

Friday 9th November, 1688

“Mixed news on the response front”, Misha says as he comes into the tavern. He and Jensen have moved with the prince's entourage to Newton (3), and are probably a lot more comfortably ensconced that most of the Dutch soldiers. “The king's men have abandoned Exeter, but still hold out in the fort in Plymouth. A pity, as we shall have to leave a force of men behind until it falls.”

“Not universal love for the conquering prince, then?” Jensen yawns. He had never guessed that not having sex could be so damn tiring, but this omega – well, even the great Lieutenant Ackles was learning a few things. 

“Except modesty!” Misha grins, showing his unerring and irritating ability to read the alpha like a book. 

“Not got much to be modest about!” the soldier grins. 

“Well, when you do tie the, ahem, knot, then we'll see, won't we?”

The omega is probably more gratified than he should be at the darkening of the alpha's eyes at that prospect, and the fact that it takes him a good minute to formulate any more words.

“What news is there of the king?” the soldier asks.

“He is assembling his levies at Salisbury, about halfway between London and Exeter”, the omega says, “and will bring his main army to join them. The place is a good choice, except there are already rumours of unrest and possible defections. The thing that worries me is that most of the other lords who invited the prince over are northern-based. I would wager, however, that being a Stuart the king is very sure of himself.”

“For now”, Jensen says pointedly.

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) It is quite possible, if not probable, that the Guy Fawkes' Conspiracy was a government set-up. There was speculation on this even at the time, not helped by the fact that the man who let the room where the gunpowder was found died on the very day the plot was discovered.  
2) There is some evidence for the exile theory. Edward was replaced by his fifteen-year-old son Edward III, and Queen Isabella and her lover Roger Mortimer would have been able to use the threat of bringing the old king out to keep the new one in line. When he came of age three years later (1330) young Edward had Roger killed and his mother exiled to a castle in Norfolk, and seems to have gone out of his way at one point to visit one 'William the Welshman' whilst abroad some years later.  
3) Now Newton Abbot. The adjoining towns of Newton Abbot (lower ground) and Newton Bushel (higher ground) had merged in 1633 and were officially called Newton, but the 'Abbot' gradually resurfaced over time. The original town was so called because is was a New Town founded by the abbots of Torre Abbey, some miles to the east.


	9. November – December 1688

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9\. The two armies get closer and.... there is no battle. The king panics and flees, which enables Misha to leave the party and return home to introduce his alpha to the family, who definitely do not threaten to remove certain appendages if he upsets their omega. Misha also 'persuades' Jensen to give up soldiering, making the alpha look forwards to many happy years of more such 'persuasion'. And it all ends pretty much where it all began....

Monday 19th November, 1688

Misha smiles as they ride in the long procession through the Devonshire countryside, passing a small and unremarkable side-road that, he knows, leads to a certain barn.

“We should do it in a barn”, he says casually. His alpha nearly falls off his horse.

“What?” he demands, though the look on his face says he clearly knows what the omega means. “Damnation, omega! Have you no shame?”

“After what we did last night?” Misha grins. “Nope!”

Jensen blushes fiercely.

“Bad omega!”

Misha chuckles, but changes the subject before his alpha glows red enough to be seen from space. Jensen is even more gorgeous when he is flustered. And he had been right about those bowed legs; they came in very useful.

“It was good that Plymouth fell yesterday”, the omega says. “The men from there should catch us up were long.”

“We may need them”, Jensen says. “The reports we have of the king's army is that it is considerably larger than ours. He should reach them at Salisbury today. I wonder if he will advance on us, or sit tight and block the road to London.”

“More likely the latter”, Misha says.

“Why?”

“Because he is unsure about his generals”, Misha says, “and it is easier to defect from an army on the move than one that is stationary. The only disadvantage would be that his men's morale would not be that high, but he will think that the numbers will more than compensate.”

“They may well”, Jensen says with a sigh. “We shall soon know.”

+~+~+

Tuesday 20th November, 1688

Misha is furious, and no amount of green-eyed smiling and reassurances are going to prevent him from being very, very angry with his wayward alpha.

“I could hardly suggest that the prince let you ride out with the men”, Jensen says as he comes in, dusty but un-blooded. “Someone had to scout ahead. It was just bad luck that we ran into a troop of the king's men on the same errand. Lord, how they ran from us! (1)”

“You are an idiot!” 

“We only lost a couple of men, and they more than a dozen”, Jensen insists. “Someone has to do it, Mish. Saving people, killing the enemy. That's my job.”

“Saving yourself and protecting your omega”, Misha insists. “Once this is over you are retiring from the army.”

“Oh yes?” Jensen says hotly. “And how are you going to make me do that, eh?”

He is suddenly aware just how close the omega has gotten to him. He did not even see the man move.

“My dear alpha”, Misha growls, “I can be very... persuasive.”

The soldier gulps. He has never really been afraid of anything in his life before, but.....

+~+~+

Wednesday 21st November, 1688

“All right, I'll retire.”

Misha does not grin in triumph. Besides, it is still dark this autumn morning, and his wrecked alpha gasping beside him cannot see it.

“Thank you for seeing my point of view”, the omega says primly. “Shall we get up?”

“I do not think I shall be getting 'up' again any time soon”, Jensen mutters. “In fact I think I will oh my Lord!”

His back arches and his legs widen as the omega sets to work. This man is going to be the death of him!

Still, at least he will die happy!

+~+~+

Saturday 24th November, 1688

The previous night the army had encamped around the town of Sherborne, about thirty-five miles from the king's army at Salisbury. 

But not, Misha learns today, from the king.

“The omens are all moving in our favour”, Jensen grins as they ride east. “Lord Churchill (2) is the latest to have deserted him, and back in London the Princess Anne has fled north. Even better, the king himself has now abandoned his men and returned to London. Seemingly he interpreted a major nose-bleed as a sign of God's displeasure.”

“Too late does he notice”, Misha mutters. “I wonder what he will do now?”

“Probably try to pretend that nothing has happened”, Jensen grins. “That is usually the Stuart way. And like his father, he will find out that it is totally ineffective.”

+~+~+

Friday 7th December, 1688

“What is this place?” Jensen asks as they ride into yet another small town. Their progress across the country has (to him at least) been painfully snow, but at least he has a warm omega to snuggle up with every night. Even if it is one with impossibly cold feet!

“Hungerford”, Misha says as he reins in outside a tavern. “We are a little under sixty-seven miles from London.”

“How on earth do you know stuff like that?” the soldier demands.

“I am verily a fount of all knowledge”, the omega grins. “And unlike you, I spotted the milepost on the way in!”

Jensen pouts.

“Well, I got news from the camp this morning”, the soldier says. “Apparently the king has graciously decided to pardon the rebels, provided they quit England as soon as possible.”

“One presumes that he is hoping the prince dies laughing at that”, Misha says shortly. “His own army has fallen apart, and he must surely know all is lost. I would say that he cannot be that stupid, but then he is a Stuart. It seems to be in their blood.”

+~+~+

Sunday 9th December, 1688

Jensen is sulking.

“I am not sulking!” he says plaintively. “I am just sorry I missed out on all the fun.”

“I doubt that those of the prince's men who got killed considered it 'fun'”, Misha says dryly. A party had had to be dispatched with speed to Reading, about a third of the way to London, when the townsfolk there had pleaded that they were about to be occupied by the king's men. Fortunately some sharp tactics and copious assistance from the locals had forced the invaders back, and the Jacobites (3) as the prince's men called them had fled to London. Jensen was just annoyed that he had not been selected for the party.

“The prince must be confident, I suppose”, Jensen says. “Sending representations off to all the midland and northern counties where, from what I hear, he has already been well received.”

“And it means you can take me home after dropping off his message in Oxford”, Misha smiles, “and you can be introduced to the family as my future husband.”

“Yes”, Jensen says warily. 

“They will not care that you are a commoner”, Misha says firmly. “My fathers have long said we could marry anyone we wished if they made us happy.”

“That is good.”

“On the understanding that the entire family would hunt them down and kill them – slowly - if they failed in that duty.”

“Oh wonderful!”

+~+~+

Monday 10th December, 1688

Lieutenant Jensen Ackles has never felt any great degree of respect for the nobility; in his book respect has to be earnt. For example, he respects some of his fellow soldiers because he knows how brave they are. He respects the Prince of Orange for risking so much for the country he loves. He respects his omega because.... well.

“I cannot believe you can do that!” he mutters as they ride east towards Newbury. “I mean, actually able to suck yourself off! That's just.... just....”

“Impressive?” Misha suggests. “Inspiring of your envy, alpha?”

“No!”

Misha just looks at him.

“Maybe”, the soldier mutters. “I mean, what else can you do?”

“If my fathers do not kill you when they see this mark, you will be finding out!” 

Jensen shudders in anticipation.

+~+~+

They get the news at Newbury, where it is being shouted along the streets and sold in eagerly-devoured newspapers.

“So the king has fled! (4)” Misha says. “Good riddance.”

“I wonder what we will have instead, though”, Jensen wonders. “I hear that many in parliament want his daughter to be queen on her own, but there is no way her husband would have ventured so much just to be a cipher.”

“A deal will be struck”, Misha says confidently. “They both need each other too much not to, especially now the French have made it a European War. The best thing would be for the king to remain in exile, and keep his head down for the rest of his life.”

“You think he would do that?” Jensen asks, surprised.

“I said the best thing”, Misha said. “Not the Stuart thing.”

+~+~+

Misha really wishes he were surprised that, when he and Jensen knock at the cottage door, there is a considerable delay before it is answered. Nor that both his parents think it appropriate to greet visitors wearing their dressing-gowns and nothing else. 

The huge and very obviously recent hickey on his father's neck – that he could have done without. Fortunately the very obvious nerves of his new mate (who is not really trying to hide behind him) help take his mind off his familial problems. 

“You and Misha”, Castiel says dryly, eyeing the soldier with interest. “Hmm.”

The alpha is not trembling. Well, not much.

“About time.”

Both young men look at him in shock. Dean jostles his husband.

“Stop teasing the poor boy!” he says. “Cas was wondering when you two would finally get it together. Why do you think he sent you both down to Devonshire? Were there any nice barns on the way?”

“One”, Misha says before he can stop himself. “I sort of had a heat there.”

Jensen seems to be finding the rug he is standing on intensely fascinating.

“And yet the alpha held off”, Castiel smiles. “Welcome to the family, boy. I am of course not going to say that we will hunt you down and tear you limb from limb if you do anything to so much as mildly annoy our youngest son.”

“You kind of did, Cas”, Dean supplies.

“Did I?” the earl says in mock surprise. “Oops! Silly me!”

There is a whine which, if anyone were to inquire, does not come from anyone named Milton.....

+~+~+

Tuesday 18th December, 1688

Few if any people venture onto the excuse for a road network of England unless absolutely necessary. Yet the twenty or so miles that the two men standing on the hill have accomplished today is... well, a mixture of business and pleasure, if truth be told. Their task in history is complete; the Prince of Orange entered the capital yesterday.

“I wish my dear grandmother had been alive to see this”, Misha says wistfully, looking down into the valley below where the little village of Long Compton slumbers below leaden skies. His cousin Samson and his mate Delius live in the old Winchester estate house now, where they will be spending the night. 

“You old romantic!” Jensen smiles. “I thought you would want our first time to be in some luxurious four-poster bed or such, not in the same barn where your fathers met.”

“It comes back to this”, Misha says thoughtfully, looking at the dilapidated building and silently hoping it will stand for another few hours at least. Or at least that there are no strong winds for the rest of the day. “They say you should never go back, but I want our children to know that our first time, even if I am not in heat, was special in some way. I want....”

He stops. The soldier – ex-soldier now – is far too silent.

“Jen?”

The two sensations hit him at one and the same time – his soon-to-be-husband's red eyes, and the fact that, impossibly, his body is slicking up. All those old wives' tales about a forthcoming marriage bringing on a simultaneous heat and rut are suddenly tales no more.

“Come on”, he grins. “Take me inside, alpha, then take me forever.”

Jensen throws his head back and roars his claim to the fields around, giving Misha just enough time to make it to the door. But not much further......

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) The Battle of Wincanton, fought in a town about thirty-five miles west of Salisbury. It lies some ten miles north-east of Sherborne, on the longer of two possible roads onto Salisbury, so William was obviously scouting ahead for danger. With good cause.  
2) John Churchill (1650-1722), later Duke of Marlborough. A great army leader, he was less successful in the political arena, but England (and later Great Britain) owed him a huge debt for his victories in the War of the Spanish Succession (1700-1713). He was gifted the old royal palace at Woodstock in Oxfordshire and replaced it with the magnificent Blenheim House, named for his most famous victory. It is still there today and mightily impressive; his direct descendant Winston (who also saved the country) was born there.  
3) From the Latin Jacobus (James), the term later used for supporters of the Catholic Stuarts in exile.  
4) Naturally James botched it, getting caught and brought back by some local fishermen. William was most annoyed, and let his rival and father-in-law 'escape' properly at the second attempt.


	10. Epilogue (1688-1760)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10\. And finally!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to the overlord, Mr. Misha Collins. The world is a better place with him in it.

The eventual compromise settled on by the English in early 1689 was a joint monarchy, with William and Mary co-monarchs. In truth William held most of the power, but Mary did her part too. However in 1689 her husband was as yet only king of England – what about Scotland and Ireland? The parliament of the latter was fairly docile but the Catholics there would not welcome their new ruler, whilst the Scots – well.

It is one of the ironies of history that the foreign prince who helped England thwart the ambitions of the French Sun-King is more remembered for his effect on his smaller kingdoms. The Scots, having seen their Kirk subjected to years of persecution under the Stuarts, were grudgingly accepting of his title, but North of the Border William will forever be remembered by many as the king behind the Glencoe Massacre, when around eighty Macdonalds were attacked and killed by Campbell soldiers billeted on them in the glen in 1692. This was in truth yet another manifestation of the interminable warfare between the clans in Scotland, but William's failure to punish anyone afterwards was a black mark against him.

'King Billy' is even more strongly remembered in Ireland (and parts of Scotland with strong Irish Protestant heritage) as the man who saved the English and Scots settlers and drove his defeated father-in-law out of the British Isles. James had invaded there and secured most of the island, but he and his armies were defeated by 1691, most famously at the Battle of the Boyne. This is why Irish Protestants are sometimes called 'Orangemen', and why the modern flag of the Republic of Ireland contains green and orange. In equal proportions, which is odd considering the general exodus of Protestants from the country since independence, dropping from ten per cent to barely four in under a century.

William also had an effect many thousands of miles away, when in 1693 he founded the second university in the American colonies, William and Mary College. This was in the small settlement of Middle Plantation, which when it became the capital of Virginia five years later and was renamed Williamsburg. 

Overall the Dutchman was an unpopular but effective ruler. His creation of the Bank of England, coupled with his flexibility in trading away rights and privileges in return for cold hard cash (the new situation being set out in the 1689 Bill of Rights), put England on the way to greatness, enabling it to fund its war effort far more efficiently than its larger enemy across the Channel. Unhappily for him, Mary died of smallpox in 1694, leaving him to rule alone. Her sister Anne, who was next in line after William, had had eighteen births but only one child, William Duke of Gloucester, who was often ill. When he died aged eleven in 1700 it sparked a major crisis, and parliament granted the king the power to chose the next heir or heiress. His choice alighted on a distant cousin Sophia of Hanover, James I's grand-daughter (and the late Prince Rupert's sister). Hanover was a state in north-west Germany which had been helpful to him in the past, and the fact that Anne hated Sophia was neither here nor there (ahem!). Sophia had been married to Hanover's last ruler Elector Ernest Louis (died 1698), and their son George, the current Elector, had a male heir, so even though she was technically somewhere around fiftieth when ranked as rightful successor, she was a sound choice. 

One thing King William did almost immediately was to make Dean's title hereditary, so that Misha could in time become the next Lord of Nowhere. It was appropriate, perhaps, that his and Jensen's first son Westley, an omega, was born on Castiel's eightieth birthday, September 18th 1689. Over the next ten years they had eight more children, during which time they built a new home in Nowhere village. The former soldier often quipped that he could have finished it sooner had he not been so frequently distracted, to which his mate would reply that Jensen really liked getting distracted! 

Talking of Dean and Castiel, the year 1700 sadly saw their passing on the same day, both dying in their sleep. The one thing the new Earl Crispin thought odd was a long black feather found near their bodies, which no-one was ever able to identify and which despite being locked in his private escritoire disappeared mysteriously soon after. This was also the year in which the peace with France, which had lasted an impressive three years, ended with the War of the Spanish Succession, which would last until 1713.

King William died in 1702, to be succeeded by his sister-in-law. 'Brandy Nan' (yes, the nickname was merited!) was a successful monarch, helped by John Churchill and his victories over the French. It was in her reign that England and Scotland were united (1707) as Great Britain, the Scots keeping their separate laws and their Covenanter Kirk. William's death had also ended the personal union with the Netherlands, which declined once more into factional fighting and would not see another stadtholder of all the provinces until William's distant cousin of the same name succeeded briefly in 1747.

Anne lived for a further seven years as first ruler of Great Britain, and the luckless Sophia missed out on becoming queen as she died aged 84 just two months before her 49-year-old cousin in 1714, so Elector George I Louis of Hanover also became King George I of Great Britain. A nonentity, he is probably best remembered for having his wife's lover (1) drowned and poor Sophia Dorothea locked in a tower for the last thirty-two years of her life, which is why she was never crowned queen. He did however bring his two mistresses to England with him; the English (who had still not discovered tact) promptly called them the Elephant and the Maypole.

The Catholic Stuarts did not give up, and throughout the first part of the eighteenth century they made sporadic attempts to regain the crown, starting with James II's Irish (mis-)adventures. His son James the Old Pretender (from the French word for claimant) had three goes in 1708, 1715 and 1719, but only managed one minor victory before slinking off back to the Continent, where he lived a life of luxury at the French court. He made what proved to be an unhappy marriage to a Polish princess and had two sons, Charles (born 1720) and Henry (born 1725).

The first King of Great Britain died largely unmourned in 1727, a year after his poor ex-wife. George I was succeeded by George II, and they had hated each other – but not as much as George II hated his own son Frederick. The Hanoverians did not do Happy Families; George's wife Queen Caroline once said ''My dear firstborn is the greatest ass, and the greatest liar, and the greatest canaille (blockhead), and the greatest beast in the whole world, and I most heartily wish he were out of it'. 

Earl Crispin died in 1736, and was succeeded by his son Daniel. Four years later Daniel's elder son Merioneth, a wild rake of an alpha, was fatally wounded in a duel, though fortuitously he had already sired some fifteen children (four of which were by his wife), so left as his heir a son George who was then nineteen. Earl Daniel passed on in 1750, and George Milton began a tenure of office that was to nearly match that of his illustrious great-grandfather. Perhaps the most surprising family event came in 1749 when Misha and Jensen, then both into their eighties, decided to decamp with two of their younger sons to start a new life in British North America, being instrumental in the founding of Halifax. They died within days of each other three years later, but their two sons, Peter (born 1700) and St. John (born 1702) stayed on, and both later migrated south along the coast.

It was also in the forties that young Prince Charles, a.k.a. Bonnie Prince Charlie or the Young Pretender, made an attempt on the throne for his still living father, and in 1745 came close to success before being defeated at Culloden the following year (2). George II's reign saw the founding in 1730 of a buffer state south of the Carolinas to defend against the Spanish in Florida, Georgia (which then included most of Mississippi and Alabama) being named after the king. 

What would prove to be the most important development during the early seventeenth century was the emergence of the post of 'prime minister', the first of whom was Sir Robert Walpole (in power 1721-1742). At this time the choice of holder was nominally that of the king, but in practice he was obliged to choose someone who could command at least some support in the House of Commons. Because the first two Hanoverians spoke little or no English, the practice of kings not attending meetings of the Cabinet (the chief ministers of the government) became the norm, and prime ministers (although they hated the title) got used to running things with minimal royal interference.

In a by and large successful reign, George II could feel safe in the knowledge that much as he disliked the ass/liar/blockhead, his son would succeed to a stable country and a growing empire. But just like Merioneth Milton, Freddie died (1751) before he could inherit, and it was Freddie's son who got all nine years later having only just come of age, and with some rather alarming ideas about re-establishing the Crown's old powers. Once had had seen off the French in their latest war with the British (3), the new King George III would put his own man in charge of parliament and then make his mark by bringing to heel those pesky colonists over in the Americas (4)....

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) Philip von Konigsmark. George's marriage to poor Sophia Dorothea, his first cousin, had been arranged by his mother against both parties' wills (she called him 'the pig snout'!) and he treated his wife appallingly, even assaulting her on one occasion. Several of his staff later confessed to their roles in the murder of the count. George and Sophia were later divorced, and when she died George threw a hissy-fit that their only other child, his daughter Sophia who had married King Frederick William I of Prussia, chose to wear black. How very dare she?  
2) A further planned invasion in 1759 was scotched by British naval victories, and 'Charles III' died in 1788 without issue. The claim devolved on his brother 'Henry I and IX', a cardinal in Rome, so naturally he too had no issue, the male Stuart line ending on his death in 1809. Some Jacobites then supported the title of King Charles Emmanuel IV of Sardinia ('Charles IV') as he was a great-great-grandson of King Charles I's daughter Henrietta. Neither he nor any of the subsequent 'claimants' has ever pursued their claim to the throne; it passed through Victor Emmanuel I of Sardinia ('Victor'), Mary Beatrice of Savoy ('Mary III and II'), Francis V of Modena ('Francis I'), Maria Theresa of Austria-Este ('Mary IV and III'), Rupert of Bavaria ('Robert IV and I') and Albert of Bavaria ('Albert') to the current (2016) 'holder' Franz of Bavaria ('Francis II'), who is also titular heir to the abolished Bavarian crown in Germany. Frankie's brother, niece and great-niece are next in line as 'Maximilian I', 'Sophie I' and 'Joseph I'.  
3) The Seven Years' War (it did actually last seven years, from 1756 to 1763). A good example of winning the war but losing the peace.. The British gained Florida, Canada and a few Caribbean islands, and had the grim satisfaction of seeing their French rivals broken by the war effort, but their overconfidence subsequent to the war and George III's determination to regain power for the monarchy would lead to the American War of Independence – ironically also seven years, and the reverse in that it could be said that the British lost that war but won the peace.  
4) The population of the future United States at this time was around 1.5 million, the balance having shifted in favour of the southern or Virginia colonies which then comprised around half the total. In total it had risen to approaching a quarter the size of the mother country, even allowing for the formation of Great Britain.


End file.
